Chapter 1

I Go to Paris.

"Let the boy go to Paris," exclaimed our guest, Roland Belloc. "I warrant he'll find a path that will lead him to fortune."

"He is young," said my father doubtfully.

"He will be killed," cried my mother, while I stood upright against the wall and looked at Roland gratefully.

It was in 1650, in the days of the Regency, and all France was in an uproar. Our most gracious monarch, Louis XIV., was then a boy of twelve, and his Queen-Mother, Anne of Austria, ruled the country. She had a host of enemies, and only one friend, Cardinal Mazarin, a wily Italian priest, who was perhaps the actual master of France.

Roland Belloc, who was the Cardinal's man, had been staying for a day or two in my father's company. He was a real soldier of fortune, strong as a bull, a fine swordsman, and afraid of no man living. He told us many startling tales of Paris.

According to him, everything in the city, from the throne to the gutter, was in a state of unrest: no man knew what an hour would bring forth. One day people feasted and sang and danced in feverish merriment: the next the barricades were up, and the denizens of the filthy courts and alleys, eager for pillage, swarmed into the light.

"Mazarin is like a wild boar," said he, "with a pack of hounds baying round him. There is the Duke of Orleans, the king's uncle, who snaps and runs away; Conde is waiting to get a good bite; while the priest, De Retz, is the most mischievous of all."

"It is almost as bad as war," said my father.

"It is war, and nothing else. But," with a laugh, "the green scarf of Mazarin will be uppermost at the finish. What do you say, Albert? Are you willing to don the Cardinal's colours?"

"I know little of these things, monsieur, but my sympathies are for the Queen-Mother."

"Of course they are!" cried he, giving me a resounding slap on the back; "so are mine, but Anne of Austria would never hold her own without the Cardinal. Come, De Lalande, let the youngster go. You will not regret it, I promise. He may not get Vancey back, but there are other estates to be won by a strong arm. Shake yourself, boy, and come out into the daylight. You are moping here like a barn-owl."

"The simile is good, Roland, for he lives in a barn. If I thought----"

"If you thought! Why, man, there is no thinking in it; the thing is as plain as the Castle yonder from the bridge over the river. He is a strapping lad, and knows how to handle a sword I'll warrant. Eh, Albert? What will he do here? Take root and grow into a turnip as likely as not. Pah! I have no patience with you stay-at-home folks. Look at his cousin Henri!"

"Henri is two years older."

"Ay, he has the advantage there, but Albert's as well grown, and better. Henri is a young scamp, too, I admit, but he is making a name already. He is hand in glove with De Retz."

"Albert belongs to the elder branch of the family," said my mother stiffly, and the soldier was going to make answer but thought better of it.

"It is kind of you to show such interest in the lad," remarked my father presently, "and we will consider the matter."

"As you please, old friend. Follow your own judgment, but should he take it into his head to wear the green scarf, let him inquire at the Palais Royal for Roland Belloc."

That night, after our guest rode away, I lay awake a long time thinking over his words. The prospect held out by him seemed to be an answer to my dreams. For many years now the fortunes of the elder branch of the De Lalande family had sunk lower and lower. My grandfather had been stripped of vast estates because he would not change his opinions to suit the times, and my father had been, as most folks thought it, equally foolish.

Unhappily, he never by any chance espoused the winning side. His house was a "Camp of Refuge" for broken men of every party, who never sued for relief in vain. The poor and infirm, the blind, the halt, and the maimed, for twenty miles around, were his family, and he never wearied of giving, till, of all our original possessions, one poor farm and homestead alone remained.

The splendid mansion of Vancey, which my grandfather had owned, now belonged to Baron Maubranne, and was often filled with a glittering throng from Paris. Occasionally my cousin Henri made one of the party, and I could not help reflecting somewhat bitterly on the difference between us.

He was two years my senior, though I was as tall as he, and more than his equal in strength. But he was handsomely dressed and in the newest fashion, while I went about in a dingy suit that was not far from threadbare. I never envied Henri, mind you, or thought the worse of him, because his father had prospered in the world, but it was seeing him, that, in the first place, led me to build my castles in the air.

My one idea in those days was to obtain possession of Vancey, where the De Lalandes had lived and died for centuries. How it was to be done I had not the least notion, and I never spoke of it to others; but Roland's talk set me thinking.

His advice seemed good. I must go to Paris and take service with some prominent man. I would serve him faithfully; he would advance my interests, and in the course of time I might save sufficient money to purchase the family estate, whither I would remove my mother and father that they might pass the end of their days in peace. That was the dream which the soldier's words had started afresh.

My father would have let me go willingly enough, but my dear mother, who had never seen the capital, feared for my welfare.

"This Paris," said she, "is a wicked place, full of snares and pitfalls for young and old. Rest content where you are, my son, and be not eager to rush into temptation. I think not so much of bodily peril as of danger to the soul."

"Albert is a gentleman," said my father, "and the son of a gentleman: he will do nothing dishonourable."

Perhaps after all I should never have left home, but for an incident which happened a few days after Belloc's departure. One evening I had wandered across the meadows skirting the river, and, busy with my thoughts, had unconsciously strayed into the private grounds at Vancey. The voices of men in earnest conversation broke my dream, and I found myself at the back of a pleasant arbour.

"It is far too risky," said one. "Let De Retz find his tools elsewhere. If the plot fails----"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed another, "it can't fail. I tell you De Retz has spread his net so carefully that we are certain to land the big fish."

Unwilling to pry into other people's secrets, I was turning back when the speakers, hearing the noise, rushed from the arbour, with their swords half drawn. One was the owner of the chateau: the other my cousin Henri.

"What beggar's brat is this?" cried Maubranne. "Off to your kennel, you rascal, and stay there till I send my servants to whip you."

"Why, 'tis my cousin," said Henri, in surprise.

"How came you here, Albert? These are private grounds."

"Yes," I answered bitterly, "and once they belonged to your grandfather and mine."

"Faith," laughed he carelessly, "he should have taken better care of them. How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes. Do not be afraid; I learned none of your business."

"If I thought you had," growled Maubranne suspiciously, "you should never leave the place. _Peste!_ it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep you as it is; you would be back under your own roof," and he ended with a brutal laugh.

"Perhaps I shall be some day; less likely things than that have happened."

At this he laughed again, and bidding me take myself off his land, turned back to the arbour.

The next morning, as I stood on the rustic bridge which spans the stream near Vancey, Henri came to join me. This was an unexpected honour, but he soon made the reason of it plain.

"Perhaps it is no business of mine," said he, "but I have come with a warning. You have made an enemy of Maubranne."

"Then we are quits," I laughed, "as I have no love for him."

"He thinks you played the spy upon him!"

"Has he sent you to find out?" I asked hotly.

"No, no; but the truth is, the situation is rather awkward. You may have heard something which Maubranne would not wish repeated."

"I heard you say that De Retz was going to land a big fish and that he wanted the baron's assistance. What was meant I do not know, except that there is some conspiracy afoot."

"I believe you, cousin," said Henri, "but Maubranne won't, and if anything goes wrong he will not spare you."

"Thanks," said I lightly; "but I can take care of myself. I have not lived at Court, but my father has taught me the use of the sword."

"Why," cried Henri laughing, "you are a regular fire-eater, but make no mistake, you will stand no chance with Maubranne. There are twenty stout fellows yonder ready to do whatever they are told, and to ask no questions. I bear you no particular love, cousin, but I wish you no ill, and will give you a piece of advice. Attach yourself to some nobleman who will look after you; Maubranne will think twice before harming a follower of Conde or Orleans."

"Or De Retz."

"Ah," said he, "to be quite frank, I don't wish you to join De Retz. Relatives are best apart. However, I have given you my advice; it is for you to act on it or not, as you think best."

That night in a long talk with my father I related the whole incident, and repeated Henri's words.

"Your cousin is right," he said thoughtfully. "Now that you have stirred up Maubranne's suspicions this is no place for you. The best thing is to accept Belloc's offer, though 'twill be a dreary life for you, alone in Paris."

"Belloc will stand by me, and Raoul Beauchamp is somewhere in the capital. He told me months ago that I can always get news of him at La Boule d'Or in the Rue de Roi."

"He is a fine fellow," said my father, "and his friendship is worth cultivating. But you must walk warily, Albert, and keep your eyes open. Unfortunately my purse is nearly empty, but I daresay that from time to time I shall be able to send you a little money."

My mother wept bitterly when she heard of the decision, but after a while she became more reconciled, and helped to pack my few things.

On the morning of my departure we sat down in very low spirits. Pierre, our faithful old servant, had prepared a simple meal, but no one seemed inclined to eat. At last we made an end of the pretence, and went to the door. "God keep you, my son," exclaimed my mother, embracing me; "I shall pray for you always."

"Remember you are a De Lalande," said my father proudly, "and do nothing that will disgrace your name."

I kissed them both, and, walking to the gate, passed through. Outside stood Pierre, who waited to wish me farewell.

"Adieu, Pierre," I cried, trying to speak gaily. "Look after the old place till my return."

The honest fellow's tears fell on my hand as he raised it to his lips and said, "Adieu, Monsieur Albert. May the good God bring you back safe and sound. Three generations, grandsire, sire, and son, I have seen, and evil days have come upon them all."

"Cheer up, my trusty Pierre! Keep a good heart. What a De Lalande has done I can do, and by God's help I will yet restore the fortunes of our house. Good-bye!" and I turned my face resolutely towards Paris.

Once only I looked back, and that was to steal a last glance at the old home. On my left lay the pleasant meadows with the silvery stream; on my right the woods and spires of Vancey, and in the distance the white-roofed farm-house, the only remnant of his property which my father could now call his own.

"He shall have it all again," I said, half aloud, and then blushed at my folly. What could I, who was hardly more than a mere boy, do? Nothing, it seemed, and yet I did not altogether despair.

Once more I turned, and, following the high road, plodded along steadily. It was the market-day at Reves, and the little town was filled with people, peasants and farmers mostly, though here and there a gaily-dressed gallant swaggered by, while the seat outside the principal inn was occupied by half-a-dozen soldiers.

In the market-place I was stopped by more than one acquaintance, with whom I laughed and jested for a few moments. A mile or so from the town I sat down by the wayside and began to eat the food which Pierre had put in my valise.

It is not necessary to recount the various stages of my journey. Sometimes with company not of the choicest, but more often alone, I trudged along, sleeping at night in shed or outhouse, so as to hoard my scanty stock of money. My shabby clothes, and perhaps the sight of my sword, saved me from being robbed, and, indeed, thieves would have gained no rich booty. A sharp sword and a lean purse are not ill friends to travel with on occasion.

It was afternoon when I reached Paris, and inquired my way to the Palais Royal. The man, a well-to-do shopkeeper, looked curiously at my shabby cloak, but directed me civilly enough.

"Monsieur is perhaps a friend of the Cardinal?" said he, as I thanked him.

"It may be," I answered; "though it is hard to tell as yet."

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Monsieur, though young, is prudent, and knows how to keep his own counsel. Monsieur is from the country?"

"Well," said I, laughing, "that question hardly needs answering."

The fellow evidently intended to speak again, but thought better of it, and contented himself with staring at me very hard. In the next street a man stopped me, and started a long rigmarole, but I pushed him aside and went on.

At the gate of the Palais Royal my courage oozed out at my finger ends, and I walked about for half an hour before mustering sufficient resolution to address one of the sentries posted at the gate.

"M. Belloc?" he said. "What do you want of him?"

"I will tell him when I see him."

"_Merci!_" he exclaimed, "if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head I will clap you in the guard-room."

Just then an officer coming up asked my business, and I repeated my wish to see M. Belloc.

"Do you know him?" he inquired.

"I am here by his own invitation."

"Well, in that case," looking me up and down as if I had been a strange animal, "you are very unfortunate. M. Belloc left town only an hour ago."

"But he will return?"

"That is quite likely."

"Can you tell me when?"

"If you can wait long enough for an answer I will ask the Cardinal," he replied with a laugh.

"It is a pity the Cardinal doesn't keep a school for manners," I exclaimed, and, turning on my heel, walked away.

Here was a pretty beginning to my venture! What should I do now? I had not once given a thought to Belloc's being away, and without him I was completely lost. After wandering about aimlessly for some time I remembered Raoul Beauchamp, and decided to seek news of him at La Boule d'Or. Without knowing it, I had strayed into the very street where the curious shopkeeper lived, and there he stood at his door.

"Monsieur has soon returned," said he.

"To beg a fresh favour. Will you direct me to the Rue de Roi?"

"The Rue de Roi?" he exclaimed in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, I want to find La Boule d'Or."

At that he raised his eyebrows and, lifting his hands, exclaimed, "Monsieur, then, has not received any encouragement from the Cardinal?"

"A fig for the Cardinal," I cried irritably. "I am in need of some supper, and a bed. You don't suppose I want to walk about the streets all night."

"But it seems so strange! First it is the Palais Royal, and then La Boule d'Or. However, it is none of my business. Monsieur knows his own mind. Jacques," and he called to a boy standing just inside the shop, "show monsieur to the Rue de Roi."

Jacques was a boy of twelve, lean, hungry-looking, and hard-featured, but as sharp as a weasel. He piloted me through the crowds, turned down alleys, shot through narrow courts, turning now to right now to left, till my head began to swim.

"Has monsieur heard the news?" he asked. "They think at the shop that I don't know, but I keep my ears open. There will be sport soon. They are going to put the Cardinal in an iron cage, and Anne of Austria in a convent. Then the people will rise and get their own. Oh, oh! it will be fine sport. No more starving for Jacques then. I shall get a pike--Antoine is making them by the score--and push my way into the king's palace. Antoine says we shall have white bread to eat; white bread, monsieur, but I don't think that can be true."

All the way he chattered thus, repeating scraps of information he had picked up, and inventing a great deal besides. Much of it I understood no more than if he had spoken in a foreign tongue, but I gathered that stirring work was expected by the denizens of the low quarters of the city.

"Faith," I thought to myself, "my poor mother would have little sleep to-night if she could see me now, wandering through these dens of vice and crime. Old Belloc's path to fortune does not seem easy to find."

Jacques suddenly brought me back to reality by exclaiming in his shrill voice, "Here we are, monsieur! This is the Rue de Roi."

The information rather staggered me, but I thanked him, and drawing out my slender purse, gave him a piece of silver. He fastened on it with wolfish eagerness and the next instant had disappeared, leaving me to find La Boule d'Or as best I could.